It’s not like cheating in the other sports. Loading your gloves isn’t like corking your bat. There’s a special level of hell reserved for the guys who cheat in boxing.
But that, more than anything, is what endows Saturday’s fight between Manny Pacquiao and Antonio Margarito at Cowboys Stadium with its drama.
Margarito, as Freddie Roach likes to say, “is a cheater.” On Jan. 24, 2009, just moments before he was to fight Shane Mosley at the Staples Center in Los Angeles, Margarito was found to have plaster-like inserts in his hand wraps. Now as then, Margarito insisted he knew nothing of it. But the presumption of his innocence ended later that night when Mosley busted him up. Long thought to be a relentless Terminator of Mexican origin, Margarito fell in nine rounds, along with his reputation for indestructibility and honor.
“That doesn’t bother me,” Margarito told me last week at his camp in Oxnard, Calif. “I’m very calm because I know I’m innocent. I know I never used anything illegal to win fights.”
His wiry goatee is a couple months old now. Combined with his naturally nefarious visage, it makes him look more villainous than ever. He’s perfect for this fight, an antidote to the populist Filipino congressman who croons for Jimmy Kimmel. Still, I wanted to believe Margarito — and almost did before he and his stablemate, a big mouth named Brandon Rios, were caught on tape goofing on Roach, who suffers from Parkinson’s Disease.
Pacquiao’s trainer earned his tremors the hard way — taking punches as an overly courageous lightweight in the 1980s. It’s difficult enough taking honest shots. Roach isn’t inclined to forgive a fighter caught with loaded wraps, especially after watching Margarito’s fights.
What he saw of Margarito was an immutable style: straight ahead, constant punching, more relentless than skilled. What varied is the amount of damage he inflicts. His fight before Mosley was Miguel Cotto. Masterful in beating Margarito through the first half of their fight, Cotto was left a bloody mess. The previous fight, a rematch against Kermit Cintron also ended with Margarito winning by TKO.
“The first thing every fighter wants to do after the fight ends is have his gloves removed,” said Roach. “If you look at the second Cintron fight, Margarito keeps his gloves on. He’s wearing them when he leaves the ring. Why?”
“I know there are still people who don’t believe me,” Margarito said last week. “But hopefully after this fight, they will.”
He’s got a point. The only way he can really prove himself a semi-honest fighter — if still somewhat despicable, on account of the video — is to beat up Pacquiao the same way he beat up Cotto. The rest of the world might see it differently. Given the never-ending confusion between victory and virtue, a win itself would seem enough to ensure the perception of redemption. And I think Margarito can do it. I like Pacquiao here. But not but by much. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to see the bad guy win.
This would be Pacquiao’s eighth title in eight weight classes. And though he’ll be fighting for a 154-pound belt at a catch-weight of 150, I can’t help but wonder if it’s just too much. Remember, Pacquaio began fighting for money 15 years ago at 106 pounds. He’s touched by greatness, no doubt. And I wonder aloud like this before every Pacquaio fight. Still, one day I’m going to be right. The scale will tip.
Consider the four men Pacquiao has faced above the lightweight limit. Oscar De La Hoya was desiccated at 145 pounds, not to mention old, when Pacquiao ended his career.
“Oscar did that for business,” said Margarito’s trainer, Robert Garcia. “He didn’t have the hunger anymore. Oscar is a businessman.”
Ricky Hatton, at 140, was overwhelmed by Pacquiao. So, eventually, was Cotto, knocked out at the beginning of the 12th. But Cotto was only a couple of inches taller than Pacquiao, and perhaps more important, had no advantage in terms of reach.
Joshua Clottey, on the other hand, was a big, strong welterweight. He had every size advantage: weight, height and reach, but refused to press any of them. Judging from the condition of their faces at the end of their fight, it looked as though Pacquiao had taken the bigger beating. Clottey could’ve have hurt his opponent — he just didn’t try, content to throw a single punch here and there.
“I saw that, too,” said Margarito, who won a unanimous decision over Clottey four years ago. “For some reason, he just held back. Maybe he just wanted to survive. I thought it could be an interesting fight. I thought Clottey had a good chance. But he didn’t even throw punches.”
I asked Margarito if he would have been embarrassed (like anything could embarrass a guy with loaded wraps).
“I don’t even know how to answer that,” he said. “I would never fight like that.”
That he won’t. Margarito sees himself as a bigger version of Eric Morales, who handed Pacquiao his last loss. That was five years and 20 pounds ago. And if Margarito isn’t as skilled as Morales, he’s a whole lot bigger. Pacquiao comes up to Margarito’s chin.
It would be a great win for Pacquiao. But how likely? I don’t know. Margarito has him by half a foot in reach. Margarito isn’t a superstar. He’s not a congressman. But he’s still a desperate fighter, comfortable wearing the villain’s black hat. Antonio Margarito knows the burden of proof is on the bad guy.
